


In the Fog

by stardustpaths



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustpaths/pseuds/stardustpaths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn’t the first time Dean ends up surrounded by fog in the ruins of the Lost City, but it certainly is the first time he meets someone there. A mysterious man with a flying boat turns out to be more than just an old tale, and Dean makes a decision that is going to have some unexpected consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [Alice](http://flightagain.tumblr.com/) for help, betaing and being awesome in general and also to Ula and Jagoda for reading this and giving me your thoughts. You all are amazing <3

There is a story in the Wastes, older even than the ruins of the Lost City. It tells a tale of a man traveling with a small, wooden boat that floats in the air. No one knows who the man is - he’s described as ageless, featureless, timeless. Some say that he is a healer; others that he is a philosopher. A few say that he is a prophet or even one of the ancient gods himself. The only thing everyone is certain of is that when the heavy fog rolls down from the mountains, the one so thick you can’t see further than the stretch of your arm, the man is there, dragging his boat behind him. People say he’s looking for something. No one knows what. And he’s always there, when the fog comes.

Of course, it’s not like Dean believes in folk tales. He just likes replaying the story in his head, just how his mother told it, remembering the timbre of her voice, the pauses she made, the breaths she took in between the sentences. It’s always calming, when he’s lost in the fog, waiting for it to disappear.

It’s happened before, more than once. He ventures closer to the mountains than most, looking for scraps of metal, or anything else useful he can take, that wasn’t already scavenged from the Lost City. Good findings are becoming more and more rare, but Bobby won’t want him to stop until they’re sure there’s nothing left to use or sell.

So Dean comes back to the ruins again and again, riding on his motorbike between remains of crumbled buildings sticking from the ground like the bones of a forgotten civilization. And sometimes, when he is there, the fog comes. He has to get off his bike then, sit on the ground and wait for it to pass. It can last only minutes, but usually he has to stay like that for hours. The Lost City is always silent, even more so during the fog, making him feel like he’s lost his hearing. And when he sits like that, not seeing, not hearing anything, he thinks of the story of a man in the fog.

This time is different. After half an hour Dean thinks he hears something. He tries to listen closely, but there’s nothing, only silence. Then he hears it again. Creaking wood and the sound of quiet footsteps. For a moment he suspects he’s finally lost his mind, spending too much time in the fog. Then he sees a dark shape getting closer. The fog around becomes thinner, and suddenly he’s facing a man in an old, tan coat, with unruly dark hair and blue eyes, staring at him intently. He has a rope in his hand. A rope that is attached to a boat floating in the air.

Now Dean is totally sure he’s lost it.

“Dude, why do you need a boat?,” he asks, unable to think of anything better to say. “There’s no water here.”

The man tilts his head. “It was given to me,” he states calmly, and then adds, “There was a sea once. There will be a sea once again some day.”

Dean stands up slowly. “So, you’re just waiting for the water to flood everything?”

“No. I’m looking.”

Dean raises his brow. Everything seems too close to the story. “For what?”

The man finally averts his eyes, his face troubled. “I don’t remember.”

“So why are you still looking?”

The man sighs. “I will know it, when find it.” He stops, lost in thought, and then looks Dean in the eyes again. “I know its light is bright and blue, so bright it makes the night look almost like the day. And it’s round and warm to the touch. I just can’t remember what it is. Or why I need it.”

Dean swallows heavily. He can see in his mind the Archstone, pulsing with its blue light, spreading its brightness over the whole Haven from the highest tower in the city. He’s never seen it up close, let alone touched it, but he could swear it would be warm. As far as he knows, the Archstone was the first thing taken from the Lost City, just before it fell apart completely. It keeps them safe. It keeps away the fog, and the storms, and black magic still crawling in the Wastes after the fall of the old civilization. The man can’t take it away. He wouldn’t even be able to; the Archstone tower is heavily guarded, and the Archstone itself is not something you could carry around unnoticed.

“I know where it is,” Dean says despite himself. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. “I can show it to you. But you can’t take it away.”

The man eyes him curiously. “Why?” he asks, and Dean thinks he can hear a little bit of hurt in his voice.

“It’s…” Dean swallows again. “It’s something important to my people. But maybe you just have to find it, not take it with you. Maybe that would be enough for you. To…” To what? Dean doesn’t know. To give the story a proper ending? To stop the man in his wandering? “To find peace.”

The man thinks for a while. “Fine,” he says at last. “Take me to it.”

“Okay, uh. We can go there on my bike, when the fog goes away.” During their conversation the fog has gotten even thinner and now Dean can easily make out the shapes of buildings around them. It can’t take more than a few minutes now for it to disappear completely. The man nods, then looks around and ties the rope of his boat to a bent metal bar sticking out from a nearby wall.

They both get on Dean’s bike in silence and leave the Lost City behind, heading back to Haven. The boat floats alone between the old ruins, stroked lightly by the wind chasing away the last remnants of the fog.

“I’m Dean, by the way,” Dean shouts some time later, trying to cut through the engine roar, remembering he never introduced himself or got to know the man’s name. At first, he thinks the man didn’t hear him, but the answer finally comes.

“My name is Castiel. I think I was an angel once.”

 

They arrive in Haven just after the sun disappears behind the horizon, leaving the Wastes in darkness. The city itself never gets dark, not completely, with the Archstone shining above, bathing everything in blue, ethereal light. It’s easy to get used to, but still, every time Dean comes back from the ruins of the Lost City, crossing the borders of Haven feels like being pulled underwater, like a sudden surge of something _other._

Dean stops next to a small shop with a rusty _Singer Salvage_ sign hanging above the entrance. Unexpected passenger or not, he still has to leave all the junk he found today. Castiel gets off the bike, his eyes glued in wonder to the Archstone.

“I think this is it, Dean. I need… I need to get closer to it,” he says eagerly.

Dean sighs, taking his bag to the door. He already knew he was right about the Archstone being whatever Castiel was looking for. Earlier, when they were still on the road, Dean debating with himself whether he had an actual ex-angel on his bike, or if he just found a crazy, homeless guy with a magic boat, Castiel had painfully tightened his grip around Dean for a moment, when the Archstone became visible. Like the mere sight was _so powerful_ that Castiel feared he would fall.

“Okay. We’ll get as close to the tower as possible,” Dean promises, fighting with the lock. “But first I need to finish my job. It should take just a few minutes. You can come in, if you want.”

Castiel nods.

As the lock gives in they both enter the shop, greeted by the smell of oil and dust, with a hint of a badly used spell. The room is dark, but there’s still light coming through the cracks in the back door, and Dean can hear Bobby’s cursing between loud, metallic sounds of hammering.

“Bobby?” he shouts. “I’m back! If you’re busy, I’m just going to leave what I found by the door. I have some stuff to do tonight.” He feels Castiel shifting by his side. “It’s safer not to touch anything,” he warns quietly, just before Castiel’s hand lands on a big, glass ball, lying on the nearest shelf. Castiel backs away, looking like a child caught doing something wrong.

The hammering stops and Bobby comes through the door, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. He’s sweaty and his beard looks like a tornado went through it. “Mrs Tate came here with her damned kettle again. This time it turns every liquid in it into some kind of acid. No wonder all her husbands are dead.”

Dean rolls his eyes, throwing the bag to Bobby. “Why won’t she just throw it away? You repaired it at least ten times already.”

Bobby shrugs. “She’s too sentimental. And I don’t mind that much, as long as she never invites me for tea.” His eyes rest on Castiel, who is looking curiously around the shop. “And who are you?” he asks gruffly.

“I’m an--,” Castiel starts, focusing on Bobby, but Dean interrupts him. “He’s a… he’s a friend,” he says quickly, before Castiel has time to tell Bobby he was an angel. “I promised to show him something. That’s why I need to go.”

Bobby furrows his brow, but doesn’t say anything. Instead he starts going through Dean’s findings. “Anything interesting today?” he asks.

“No, not really,” Dean answers, glancing at Castiel with guilt. It’s not like Bobby was asking about anything that wasn’t in the bag, anyway. He starts turning to the door, but Bobby stops him.

“Wait. Missouri was here. I have no idea what exactly she wanted, but she said that you need to visit her as soon as you get back. And that it’s about what you’ve found in the ruins. You sure there was nothing special? I don’t want anything in this bag to blow my face off.”

Dean tries to keep a neutral face, but something in his stomach turns. Missouri knew a lot about magic, fortune telling, and many others unusual things, but how could she possibly know about _this_? “Yeah, I’m sure there was nothing. The bag is fine, Bobby, it’s just the usual junk.” He isn’t happy with not telling Bobby the whole truth, but how do you tell someone you’ve met an ex-angel, who’s looking for the Archstone for some reason even _he_ doesn’t know?

“If you say so, boy. But Missouri wouldn’t come here without a reason.”

“Okay,” Dean rises his hands defensively. “I’ll go and see what it’s about, but I’m sure you have nothing to worry. See you, Bobby.”

Bobby mutters something in response, and Dean takes Castiel’s arm and leads him outside, closing the door behind them. They stand in an empty street for a while, Dean eyeing Castiel and trying to decide if he should take him to Missouri. She always seems wise and reliable, but what the hell can she possibly want with Castiel?

The air gets colder, and after few more minutes Dean feels goosebumps on his arms. Castiel just waits, looking at Dean without a word, lapels of his coat billowing slowly in the wind.

“So, I guess we need to make a slight detour,” Dean decides finally. “If Missouri knows about you, maybe she will be able to help you better than me. She’s kind of an oracle or something.”

Castiel blinks, and then continues staring, but before Dean has a chance to double-check if he’s okay with going to Missouri, he says “I trust you, Dean.”

The words gradually sink into Dean’s mind. Here is a total stranger, who can’t possibly know anything about him, offering his trust. A member of another species. He doesn’t know how to feel about this.

“Why?” he blurts out.

There’s a small smile dancing in the corners of Castiel’s mouth. “You said the thing I am looking for is important to you, and then you still decided to show it to me.”

Dean tries to look everywhere but Castiel’s face, suddenly embarrassed. “Uh, that’s nothing. Really. We should go.”

“Let’s go, then.”

 

When they reach Missouri’s house she is standing on the porch, wrapped in a knitted lavender shawl, half-lit by warm, yellow light coming from behind her. She observes them as Dean props up his bike. It’s getting even colder than before. The wind stopped some time ago. The crystals hanging from the roof of the porch are still moving gently, making soft, tinkling noises. Dean imagines an invisible, ghostly hand brushing slowly through them. It makes a chill run down his back. Missouri steps down the stairs, her dark skin gaining a bluish hue in the glow of the Archstone.

“Dean,” she greets him, her voice warm and welcoming. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean shrugs. “Bobby made it sound almost like a life or death situation.”

“It could be, as well,” she says cryptically, moving to Castiel. “It’s an honor to meet you, angel.”

“Thank you,” Castiel answers gently. “You are a seer, right? One from an ancient line, leading to…” He stops, opening and closing his mouth a few times. His face goes blank. “I can’t remember. I’m sorry, I have been traveling far too long.”

Missouri’s smile is warm, despite visible sadness in her eyes. “It’s okay, dear. No one should be lost for so many years. Yes, I am, as you say, a seer.” She gestures towards the house. “Now, both of you should come in, there is tea waiting. Better not to let it get cold.”

Missouri leads them to a small, cozy room, filled with the scent of herbs and candle smoke. Dean immediately sinks into a worn green sofa, embroidered with a delicate floral pattern. He notices three steaming cups of tea on a small wooden table next to him. Missouri had to know precisely when they would arrive.

“Of course I knew, boy. What else would you expect from me?” Missouri looks at him with an arched brow.

Dean jumps involuntary in his seat, cursing himself for thinking too loudly. Before he has time to protest against anyone reading his thoughts, Missouri takes her place in the armchair, and focuses on Castiel, who hesitantly sits down next to Dean. “So, how much do you remember, darling? Do you know why you’re here at all?”

Castiel looks at his hands. “I was left here to find something. Long ago. So long, that since then, the water disappeared, the mountains lost half their height, and countless generations of humans passed away. I don’t know what it is, what I’m looking for. But it’s here, I saw it.” He raises his eyes to Missouri. “That is all.”

Dean already knew Castiel had to be old, but hearing he was around for so long gives him a weird feeling. Still, there’s something about Castiel that makes it obvious he’s different from everyone else, that the face of a young man has nothing to do with his true age. Dean guesses that maybe that’s what people had in mind describing him as ageless.

Missouri carefully takes one of the teacups. Dean decides to follow her example. The tea has an interesting flavor, slightly spicy, with a touch of something sweet.

“Do you remember anything from before you were left here?” Missouri asks.

Castiel shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “No. I know I did, years ago. But remembering was hard. I got tired. And then I stopped. Most of it went away.”

“Then you need to hear this story.” Missouri sips her tea a few times, her eyes becoming distant, like she is seeing something far away, not visible to anyone else. Dean isn’t sure if the steam from her cup has suddenly started forming unusual shapes or if it’s just his mind playing tricks.

“It’s old, older than whole civilizations. It says that there was this creature once, when the world was younger. An angel, who loved humans so much that it gave up a part of itself to protect them.” Now Dean is certain he can see a winged being formed in the steam. “Most of its species had no interest in us, it was the only one of them watching us carefully enough to know what was happening. These were dark times for mankind, much worse than now. The monsters and magic unleashed from Beyond almost destroyed us. And this creature, this creature decided that it wants to help.”

The swirling steam forms the same winged shape holding a small, round object. As Missouri speaks, the scene changes fluidly, the creature becomes smaller, the wings disappear.

“After making its decision, the angel found a stone and poured most of its grace into there. You must know, an angel grace is something that makes angels _angels_ \- this selfless act reduced him to a human-like form, almost without any power. It didn’t stop him, though.”

“He traveled to one of the big cities of that time, where he gave the stone to its human leaders. Soon the stone turned out to be the most powerful artifact and protection humans had ever seen. Thousands survived only because of its power. It stopped wars, monsters, disasters and even plagues. The world became a safer and more peaceful place. The angel spent his time among humans, and they treated him as one of their own.”

Dean slowly forgets that he’s still in a small room in Missouri’s home, as the steam illustrates the story before his eyes. Missouri’s voice is calm and mesmerizing.

“Sadly, nothing can last forever. And so, there came the day when something disastrous happened to the people in the city where the stone was held. The only thing I can say for sure is that the waters were brought upon them. There is very little known to me about the cause of the flood except that it couldn’t be a natural disaster. It happened too fast, it was too big. In truth, it was so big the city was buried under the water for centuries. When the waters finally dropped, there was nothing left, and the stone disappeared somewhere under the mud, sand and rubble.”

“The angel didn’t drown with the citizens of the city. He suffered in a different way. Away from the heavens, almost graceless and powerless, he was completely alone. Somehow he attained a boat and stayed there until the flood passed. I don’t know if at the time he tried to get his grace back. Maybe. Had he found it, he would have been able to go back to Heaven.”

“After the waters went away, new people came from other areas and settled here. They built their cities, evolved, became more and more advanced. Many years later they dug out the stone and discovered its powers by chance. They used it as protection for centuries, but finally the world became so corrupted it fell apart again, the city was destroyed, not even the stone could help. Then, the new order rose from the ashes of the old one. And the story repeated itself many, many times. Sometimes people found the stone, sometimes not. During the last big fall, when the Lost City was destroyed, and then Haven built from its ruins, the stone was brought here.”

“As for the angel, he was wandering for years, at first certainly unable to take the stone back, then still not doing it for some reason. Some people saw him and spoke to him. That’s how this story was born, forgotten by most since then.”

“Then, one day, he disappeared. No one has seen him for a very long time. Not until recently that is, maybe in the last few decades, maybe less, when the story of the man in the fog was born. I don’t know what happen to him, but when he came back, he was changed, looking for his grace with almost no memories, not aware how close it was.”

The room suddenly becomes too small. Dean slowly comes back to reality, the steam only steam again.

“Those stories are about you, Castiel,” Missouri continues. Castiel just slightly nods in response; it’s not like this was hard to guess. “And now, we’re getting to why I asked you to come here. You are suspended somewhere between what you were and humanity. It’s destroying you. Your body isn’t capable of surviving this much longer. You must choose, if you want to live. Either you have to take your grace back and go home, or you have to let go of the last strands you’re hanging onto and spend the rest of your life fully human.”

A long silence falls after that. Dean wonders if he should say something, but he doesn’t, not finding the right words. Finally Castiel speaks.

“How can I choose taking my grace back if it protects you?”

Missouri sighs. “Believe me, it’s not an easy thing for me to say, but you have a right to do that. We will survive either way, until our time comes. Maybe it will be harder, but you gave humanity far more than we ever should have been allowed to ask. You deserve to get it back, if you want to. You need to choose, Castiel.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you going to stare at me the whole time, or are you going to try it?” Dean grumbles, stuffing himself with the pancakes he made for breakfast. Outside heavy rain drums steadily against the windows. Dean is thankful he doesn’t have to ride to the Wastes today.

Cas doesn’t stop eyeing the plate. “I’m not staring.”

Dean snorts and pushes his plate in Cas’ direction. “Yes, you are.”

It’s been a week since they’ve met in the Lost City, though it seems much longer. Castiel seems a little different, like he is slowly remembering how to interact with humans and the world around him. There is something fascinating for Dean in watching him shuffle around, examining Dean’s things.

Missouri warned Cas that he doesn’t have much more time, but then added that his decision shouldn’t be rushed and that it’s better to wait a little longer than decide hastily. Without much thought Dean said Castiel could stay with him until he knows what he wants to do. And that’s how they’ve ended up in Dean’s kitchen on a Saturday morning with a plate of pancakes visibly making Cas curious.

Dean already knows that despite the lack of most of his grace Castiel still doesn’t have to eat or sleep, or do any other human stuff. But that doesn’t mean he can’t _try_ doing some of it.

Right now, he seems pleased with trying Dean’s food. His content smile, when the first bite of a pancake lands in his mouth, makes Dean feel warm inside. Dean thinks it’s ridiculous, given the short time he’s known the guy. It probably doesn’t help that he’s in Dean’s clothes. Of course, he didn’t _need_ to change, but after a day or two of staying with Dean and going through his books, Castiel decided he wanted to take walks around the city while Dean was at work, and Dean figured it would be better if he didn’t draw too much attention to himself. And no one wears clothes like his.

“I’ve been trying to remember something.” Castiel says half-absently. “Anything. It’s hard to make a decision when most of my life sounds like tale even to me.”

“And?”

“I wasn’t successful so far.”

If Dean is being honest with himself, he’s scared that Cas will decide to take his grace back, leaving Haven without protection. Not to mention getting to the Archstone still seems impossible. But like Missouri said, Castiel has the full right to do it. “Cas,” he starts, still battling with himself about what he wants to say. “You know that whatever you decide, I’m going to help you?”

Cas looks somewhat stricken. He still gives Dean weird looks every time Dean shortens his name, but this time it’s something else, not that particular look between surprise and fondness.

“Why? You _are_ aware that you may lose a lot doing that.”

Dean shrugs. “I just want to.” And that’s actually true, although Dean isn’t sure to _why_ exactly he wants to help. Feeling an obligation to give something back to the being that was helping humanity for so long doesn’t cover this at all.

Castiel studies him carefully for a few moments. “Thank you, Dean. That means a lot,” he says at last.

Suddenly Dean feels very uncomfortable sitting like that with Castiel, there seems to be too much of _something_ in the air. He gets up and takes the empty plate to the sink, just to give himself something to do with his hands.

“Um. Is there anything I could do? I have a day off today, so if you need me…” Dean trails off, making a vague gesture with a wash cloth. “And I have a few spellbooks, maybe there’s something about getting back lost memories, I could check them if you want.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I’ve read all your books. There was nothing that could help me.”

Dean raises a brow at Cas’ reading speed, then decides it shouldn’t surprise him and just shakes his head, smiling slightly at the plate in his hand. He tries to think of any other way he could help. He’s not very optimistic about Cas regaining his memory just like that, but if the books he has can’t help…

“We can visit my brother. He’s a librarian, he has access to a lot more books than me,” he suggests.

Castiel doesn’t seem convinced. “Dean, I’m not sure any human book can help me.”

“But you don’t have _that many_ other options and it doesn’t hurt to try,” Dean argues, maybe a little too bluntly.

“No, it doesn’t.” Castiel chews on his lip. “Okay. I can try.”

 

It’s still raining when they go outside. Dean fumbles with an umbrella for a minute or so to get it open, cursing under his breath when it gets stuck. He should take it to Bobby’s later, to check if the waterproofing spellwork has broken somehow, damaging the opening mechanism. That would be just his luck.

Castiel steps right into the rain with a content smile.

“Cas, what are you doing?” Dean stares at him in disbelief. “You’re going to be completely wet by the time we reach Sam’s place.”

Cas seems unfazed. “I like the feeling of the raindrops on my skin,” he argues.

Dean looks up, shaking his head. He wonders where in his life he went wrong to get to this moment. “Didn’t you get enough of it already? I’m sure that after wandering for who knows how long you got rained on far too much in your life.”

“No” Castiel states simply and continues getting soaked.

Dean sighs and abandons his umbrella.

 

Dean can’t blame his brother for the look of utter surprise when he opens the door. They must make quite a sight - Dean with a hood pulled far over his head, desperately trying not to get any more wet, and Cas happily dripping next to him.

“Uh,” Sam says eloquently, his brow raised in question.

“Don’t even ask,” Dean grumbles, brushing past him and pulling Castiel inside. They leave wet footprints all over the floor. Cas’ wrist is warm, despite being wet just like the rest of him, and Dean feels like some of that warmth is seeping into his bones. It makes being completely drenched a little better.

For some miraculous reason Sam listens and doesn’t start interrogating them. Instead he disappears for a minute, leaving Dean and Cas alone in the cramped corridor of his house, and comes back with towels.

“This is Cas,” Dean says, trying to dry himself as much as possible. The clothes stick to his skin anyway. Castiel stares at the towel for a moment before following Dean’s example. “And we need some help.”

“Okay,” Sam says slowly, looking between the two of them and waiting for a more detailed explanation.

“We need you to take us to the library.”

Sam frowns. “You know it’s closed today Dean, and it’s not like people can come and go there as they please. There are _rules._ ”

“ _Gee, Sam, really?_ ” Dean rolls his eyes. “I would’ve _sworn_ you worked there and you could come and go whenever you want.”

“I can, but--” Sam starts, but Dean interrupts him mid-sentence. “Sam, come on, this is something important. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t.”

“Okay, fine,” Sam sighs. “I hope I’m not going to regret this. Just remember, no wandering off to the basement floor. We had a bookworm infestation last week and there still may be some left.”

 

It stops raining soon after they get to the library. Dean observes dust motes dancing in the air, clearly visible in the rays of sun, and contemplates how much the universe must hate him.

Castiel moves back and forth between the shelves. Dean wanted to help him, but he said he would be faster on his own. So now Dean just sits there with Sam, stealing glances of Cas from time to time.

Cas’ hair’s sticking in every direction, even messier than before. His shirt is still wet, but he doesn’t seem to mind, focused on the books. For a moment Dean is sure he sees faint shapes of wings behind Cas’ back. He blinks rapidly and they’re gone. It was just light playing with his eyes.

“You like him.” Sam looks at Dean with a smug smile and for a second Dean considers throwing a book at him. In the end, he just looks back at Cas. And yeah, of course Dean likes him. They wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.

“So what?” he asks, maybe a little too defensively.

“Nothing.” Sam’s smile gets even wider. “So are you going to tell me what this is about or no?” he changes the subject.

Dean lets out a huff. He should’ve known Sam wouldn’t hold back his questions for too long. “Cas has lost something,” he starts. He doesn’t know what else to say. “And I thought that maybe some book here will help,” he adds finally. It’s probably the most unhelpful explanation ever, but he doesn’t want Sam to know the truth. It’s not his to tell anyway.

“He’s not from around here, is he?” Sam doesn’t give up.

“He’s not. But he’s a friend,” Dean says, like this should explain everything.

And maybe it does, because Sam doesn’t ask any more questions.

Castiel doesn’t find anything in the next few hours they spend in the library. He said he wouldn’t, but he still looks disappointed when they leave. Dean feels the same.

There are still hundreds of books left, though, because even Cas wasn’t fast enough to read them all in one day. They take a small stack with them. Maybe they’ll have more luck with those.

 

Days pass. One morning Dean wakes up to the realization that Castiel has been living with him for nearly two months. And he lies in bed, thinking that it’s nice to wake up and know that Castiel is _there_ , probably curled in Dean’s armchair with another book. It’s nice to make breakfast for two people instead of one and chat with Cas before going to work. It’s nice getting back to a house that isn’t empty.

This isn’t something Dean expected to happen.

He didn’t expect a lot of other things. Evenings with board games are a thing now. Cas got incredibly good at them _way_ too fast and Dean loses more often than not. He doesn’t mind though. Okay, maybe his pride is a little wounded, but somehow the fact that it’s _Cas_ who wins makes it slightly better.

And sometimes on his days off Dean teaches Cas how to cook. He isn’t sure how that happened. One day he was simply standing in the kitchen, telling Castiel about different spells used as spices, Cas stirring the pot next to him. And a sudden thought hit him. They were cooking together. He was cooking with a being that was probably older than the whole planet. Unbelievable.

There are also the days when Dean takes home a few things from Singer Salvage to work on, and he and Cas sit together in silence; Dean with a screwdriver and a spellbook, Cas reading.

Dean suspects that Castiel wants to read all the books in the library, even though he went through everything that could possibly help ages ago. But who knows, maybe _The Tale of Seven Witches_ is something more than a children's story, maybe there’s something in it that only Cas can see.

Castiel reads a lot slower now and Dean wonders if he does that to appreciate the books more or if it’s a sign that he’s running out of time. Maybe it’s both.

Cas _is_ running out of time.

When Dean came back from the Wastes the day before, Cas was asleep, his mouth slightly open, his head propped against the back of the armchair at an awkward angle. Dean’s stomach gave an anxious leap. Cas wasn’t supposed to doze off in the middle of the day. That’s what people who need sleep sometimes do. He wasn’t supposed to need sleep.

So, Cas is definitely running out of time and soon he’s going to have to decide what to do, even if he still won’t remember anything from his past.

Dean doesn’t want to think how he’s going to feel if Cas leaves. It’s no longer only about Haven’s protection. But he made a promise and nothing is going to change it. He _will_ help Castiel, no matter what Cas decides.

 

One morning when Dean enters the kitchen he’s greeted by the strong scent of freshly brewed coffee. Cas is already there, a mug in his hand. He stares at it absently, looking half-awake and so completely human that Dean feels a painful stab in his chest.

Since Castiel started sleeping at night it’s become apparent that he’s not a morning person. Dean tries not to worry, but this is something new. It doesn’t feel right to see Cas up so early. Or maybe he’s overthinking it. It’s not like anyone can talk about permanent habits after a few days of experience.

“Hey,” he says softly, not wanting to startle Cas. He means to ask if Cas is all right. “Do you want scrambled eggs for breakfast?” he asks instead.

Castiel looks up. He has bags under his eyes. Dean starts to suspect he’s been sitting there for a few hours at least. Even in the dim blue light from the window he can see that there’s something weird in Cas’ expression. He can’t put a finger on it.

“I don’t know,” Cas says flatly, and then adds “I had a dream tonight.”

“Okay.” Dean sits across the table from Cas, resting his arms on the wooden surface. It seems that Cas’ first dream ever didn’t go too well. Eggs can wait. “What was it about?”

Castiel puts the coffee away. “It was more than that, it was a memory.”

That makes Dean raise his brow in surprise. This is not what he expected. A nightmare maybe, but not this. “That’s a good thing, right? You’re starting to remember.”

“Yes, my memory returning is a good thing,” Cas agrees without conviction, looking away.

“But there’s something wrong.” It’s more a statement than a question. Castiel doesn’t answer.

It finally hits Dean that what he sees on Cas’ face is carefully masked pain. Whatever Cas has remembered must have been pretty shaking. Dean isn’t sure what to do with this. He was never good at comforting people. He shifts uneasily in his seat and clears his throat. “So, you wanna tell me what you remembered?”

Castiel looks somewhere next to Dean’s ear. “At first it was just images and feelings, then everything became more detailed. I was in a city full of spires and delicate arches, painted in golds and whites. It was beautiful. Full of light and thriving with life. I was happy there. Surrounded by people who were good to me, who treated me like family.” He makes a pause, a small, sad smile creeps on his face. “I can see their faces.”

Dean feels something heavy settling in his gut. He already suspects where the story is going.

“There was Hael,” Cas continues. “A young girl who wanted to travel the world. I told her stories about all the places I’ve seen and she showed me where in the city was the best spot to watch sunrise. And there was Uriel, chief of the city guard. He had an incredible sense of humor. And there was Muriel with her big heart, always trying to see good in people. And Hester. And Inias. And many others. They all were my friends.”

Cas stops again, taking a shaky breath.

“They all died. Everyone drowned when the city was flooded. And I _know_ it was my fault. I may still not remember why, but I feel it. I wanted to protect them, but instead I led them to their deaths.”

Something inside Dean wants to scream, but he manages to stay fairly calm. “Cas, _stop._ You couldn’t have known that would happen. Yeah, it’s fucked up and terrible, but _it’s not your fault._ Something else did this and you can’t blame yourself.”

He remembers what Missouri said. _And they treated him as one of their own._ Somehow it never crossed his mind that Castiel had to lose someone back then. A whole town of someones, actually. Is it even possible to make up for something like that? Dean is just one person.

Castiel shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have forgotten them, Dean. They were important. They should be remembered.”

“But you remember them now, and that’s what counts.”

“Yes, I do,” Cas says. He doesn’t look like Dean’s words helped at all.

Dean supposes Cas will get there in time. For now, he makes them scrambled eggs for breakfast.

 

A few days later Castiel discovers the way to the roof.

Dean finds him there in the evening, wrapped tight in a blanket, his back turned to the tower. He looks pale in the blue light casting long shadows across his face. His eyes are fixed on the night sky. Dean feels a growing lump in his throat, when he catches their feverish gleam. Why the hell Cas isn’t doing anything?

“Cas…” he starts, sitting down. His voice sounds more pleading than he intended.

Cold air sweeps around them, making Dean shiver. He wishes Cas would share the blanket.

The dark rooftops look unearthly in the light from the tower. Dean can see the plane surface of the Wastes far away; the ruins resembling children’s toys from the distance. The mountains tower over the Lost City, even though they’re much further away.

Cas is still looking at the sky. Dean follows his gaze. The light of the Archstone makes it hard to see the stars, but above the mountains small dots of light and much bigger shapes of planets are clearly visible.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Castiel asks quietly. Dean hums in agreement.

Someone told him once that other planets shouldn’t be this close, that it was some capricious mage who did this. Apparently later other mages had to use a lot power to stop the planets from crashing into each other and since then astronomy spells were forbidden. Dean isn’t sure he believes the story but he thinks the sky looks awesome. It would be boring with just stars.

“The universe is a breathtaking place, Dean,” Cas sighs. “I wish I could’ve seen it all.”

Dean swallows heavily. “You probably still can, you know. If you take your grace back.”

Castiel looks at him sharply.

“I mean if you _want_ to take your grace back,” Dean tries to backtrack. “You could see it. Probably. I’m not suggesting you should take your grace back. Or that you shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Cas says, and goes back to staring at the sky.

“But.” Dean takes a deep breath. “I think you should hurry up. You look like shit.”

Castiel huffs. “It seems that being close to death does that to people, yes.”

Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “And that doesn’t seem to you like a good moment to make the decision?”

“I decided some time ago.” Cas tugs the blanket even closer, a sudden firmness in his voice. “I’m not going to take my grace back.”

This should be a good thing, but somehow Dean thinks it isn’t. “Okay, so why aren’t you getting better?”

Castiel stays quiet for a while. Somewhere below them clattering of hurried footsteps echoes on the street, soon trailing off in the distance.

“I don’t know how to let it go,” Cas finally admits, looking at his hands. “I don’t remember enough.”

“Shit.” This definitely isn’t a good thing. “What are you going to do?”

“There is nothing for me to do, Dean.”

Dean’s stomach drops with realization what Cas is implying. He brushes his hand across his mouth. “Let me get this straight. You’ve basically chosen to die? Cas, don’t you dare to even think about that!”

“I’m not going to take away something that protects the whole town!” Castiel raises his voice with emotion. “What would I get in return for taking my grace back? Heaven?” He stops, taking a deep breath, and continues more softly. “I don’t remember anything about it. It doesn’t feel like home and I don’t want to go back there.” He looks Dean in the eyes. “I prefer to die in a place I want to be, knowing that you will be protected after I’m gone. This is my choice. I have lived long enough; your lives are far more important.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, his throat clenching painfully.

“So don’t go back to Heaven,” he manages in the end. “Take your grace back and stay here protecting the city if that’s what you want.”

“What if I won’t be able to stay?” Castiel asks, his voice barely audible.

“You were able to come here when you first decided to help, so why wouldn’t you?” Dean sighs. “Cas, let’s try this. We’re going to figure something out. Just. Don’t sit around waiting for death. Your life is worth more than this.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything to that, back to watching the sky in silence. Dean waits for him to speak again, desperately hoping he’s going to listen.

It’s even colder now, his hands starting to get numb. He wants to get back inside. Suddenly he feels angry. He gets up. He doesn’t want to leave Cas there, not really, but if he stays another minute he’s going to shout at him, or punch him, or do something else he would regret later.

Cas is going to die because he’s too stubborn to consider there may be another way.

“Fine. You know what, do whatever the hell you want,” Dean spats, turning away from Cas, from the mountains, from the night sky. He leaves the roof not waiting for an answer this time.

 

It takes almost a week of dancing around each other, carefully omitting the subject of Castiel’s grace, before one evening Cas comes to Dean’s room, his eyes full of new determination.

“If I say yes, how do you want to do this?” he asks calmly.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite Castiel’s initial decision to reconsider getting his grace back, convincing him that they have a chance to succeed is hard. It takes days before he agrees to Dean’s plan. And okay, Dean has to admit that it’s not a _good_ plan, but it’s not like they have any other options. _Acceptable_ options. Because he’s _not_ going to just sit and watch Cas die.

In the end, getting inside the tower is easier than Dean imagined; probably because no one actually expects it. The Archstone protects every person in Haven, so why would anyone want to steal it?

Except a dying angel and his human friend, of course.

The sun isn’t up yet and won’t be for another few hours. It’s cold. Their breaths turn into steam in the air. They try to stick to the shadows and get as close to the tower as possible without being noticed. It’s tricky with the blue light making the night much brighter, but they manage.

The place is heavily guarded, though it only takes one or two obscure sleeping spells and they’re in. Apparently the guards didn’t think they’d need protection against ancient magic designed for putting small children to sleep. Who knew.

Unfortunately it most likely won’t buy them enough time to escape. Someone is going to notice, or the guards are going to wake up on their own. And this time they will be prepared. Dean hopes that by then Cas will be able to get them out.

They move as fast as the narrow steps allow them. The stairs seem endless. At some point Dean feels that the walls are closing in around him. He touches the cold stone. It isn’t moving. His heart is pounding too fast. He has to calm down, he tells himself. He looks at Cas, a few steps above, climbing the stairs with unwavering persistence.

Cas is there. Everything is going to be all right. Dean listens to his hitched breath and it’s reassuring, somehow.

Raised voices echo somewhere below. They’re getting closer, accompanied by rushed sounds of running feet.

Dean and Cas start to run as well. They almost stumble over their own feet now, and if Dean had time to think, he would think it was dangerous. They could slip and fall and this all would be for nothing. But he doesn’t have the time. He just pushes forward.

It feels like ages have passed, but finally there’s a surge of fresh air on Dean’s face. The voices behind are so close now. Dean suspect they’re using some kind of magical acceleration; it wouldn’t be possible otherwise. He pushes Cas, trying to make him move faster, the last burst of energy before the top. They tumble out of the door, Castiel falling to his knees.

Dean looks around, trying to catch his breath. They need something to block the door. Anything. But the top of the tower is empty. He tries to use a spell and it bounces off.

Before the panic comes, he sees that there’s a latch on the door. He almost laughs. It doesn’t look like it’s going to hold for long, but it’s something. It may be enough.

Cas is already on top of the short ladder leading to the actual Archstone floor. A moment later his feet vanish from Dean’s sight.

There’s a dull thud on the other side of the door.

“Cas, hurry up!” Dean shouts, tossing himself to the ladder. He gets to the top just in time to see Castiel reaching for the Archstone. It’s just a split second. Dean could swear that right before Cas’ fingers touch the stone, he glances back at him. And then everything goes white.

There’s so much light that Dean can’t see anything else. It hurts; his eyes are watering. The light swirls and dances around him, warmth envelops him gently. It feels like a living thing.

And it hits him that it _is_ a living thing. It’s _Cas._

Suddenly Dean feels very small.

And just like that, the light disappears without a warning, leaving Dean blinded, unable to see anything in the darkness. He doesn’t know what happened. “Cas?” he asks, his voice hoarse. There’s no answer. _And he can’t even see what happened._

Someone is pulling him down. Someone is shouting, and now he remembers that there were guards after them. He hopes that Cas is all right. That’s his last thought before he loses consciousness.

 

Dean wakes up in a small, windowless cell.

It’s hard to see anything in the dimmed light pouring from the other side of the bars, but as far as he can tell, he’s alone. Cold bores deep into his bones. Someone threw a thin blanket over him, but it doesn’t help much for the chill in the air. His head pounds.

He drags himself up, trying to gather his thoughts. The blanket slides away to the floor. He doesn’t bother to pick it up. A heavy, confining feeling of defeat washes over him. He has no idea what happened with Cas. He has no idea what’s going to happen with him either.

But _that_ at least he can imagine. What he did is treason. Traitors are sentenced to death. He’s going to die. _Fuck_. This is not how everything was supposed to go.

He wants to scream.

Hours pass in silence. Dean sits on his small cot, barely moving. He feels as if blood is boiling in his veins. He’s angry. He’s angry at the whole word and at everyone in Haven. But mostly he’s angry at himself. He didn’t do enough. He was supposed to help Castiel, not land himself in prison.

And yeah, part of Dean wants to believe that Cas is all right, and that he’s going to get him out of there any minute. An angel can do that, right? But he doesn’t want to get his hopes too high. In case it doesn’t happen. He doesn’t want to feel like a naive moron when they execute him.

At some point someone brings him food. It looks far better than he would have expected. He can't seem to taste it. He wants to ask about Cas. He doesn’t.

Finally the anger disappears. It leaves Dean strangely hollow. For a moment he toys with an idea of trying to escape, but the cell is spellproof and there’s nothing that could help him get through the bars. The only thing he can do is wait.

He’s startled when he hears brisk footsteps in the corridor, and even more surprised to see a familiar face.

“Missouri?” he asks, disbelieving. Why would Missouri visit him?

“You foolish boy!” Missouri huffs. “What on Earth did you get yourself into? Did you two really think _this_ was a good idea?”

Dean grimaces. “Thanks, I’ve been asking myself the same questions for the past few hours. But it’s not like we had that much of a choice.”

“You should’ve come to me and try to work out a more diplomatic approach.” She sighs. “All right. I didn’t come here to reprimand you Dean, though you certainly deserve that. I wanted to let you know that I’m going to see what I can do about the situation. The council respects me and my work, hopefully they’re going to listen. So don’t lose your hope yet, boy.”

There’s something wrong with Dean’s throat when he tries to swallow. “Thanks,” he mutters, ignoring the growing lump. Once again he doesn’t ask about Castiel.

“You will thank me when I get you out of here,” Missouri says and then Dean is alone again.

He can’t stop himself from focusing on Cas.

Castiel was supposed to get his grace back and stay, protecting the city. And if that had happened, he wouldn't just leave Dean in prison. And Dean waited, but instead of Cas it’s Missouri trying to get him out. And she didn’t mention Cas at all.

So. Now Dean can be sure that Cas isn't there. That leads him to all sorts of ideas.

Maybe when Castiel got his grace back he wasn't the same person anymore? Maybe he didn't care about Haven or Dean. Maybe he just left, going back home. Or maybe something went very, very wrong and it didn't work at all? And Castiel just died there, on the top of the Archstone tower. And there's no Cas at all.

These thoughts drive Dean up the wall. He’s going to go mad if he doesn’t get an answer soon. And it’s his own fault, because he could’ve asked.

He falls asleep sometime later, still feeling cold and miserable.

 

There is no indication of how much time has passed when Dean’s woken up by a guard. The cell is as dark as it was before. He doesn’t have a chance to think before he is being led up the stairs and out of the prison level. The only thing the guard says is that the council is now ready to give their verdict.

The upper levels are warmer and better lit and Dean can’t say he doesn’t appreciate that. They pass through a number of corridors, which probably seem longer than they are, and stop before an average-looking, wooden door. Dean wonders if he should be scared. Probably. Instead he feels empty.

The guard opens the door and leads Dean inside.

Suddenly all eyes are on him. A small woman in her fifties clears her throat. Dean recognizes her as Linda Tran, the head of the council. Her son, Kevin, visited Singer Salvage a few times in the past when the spells on his cello broke.

“Since mister Winchester is already with us,” Linda says “I think we can proceed.”

As Dean is moved to the front, he notices Missouri, but it’s hard to say from her expression if she succeeded. There are other people he knows, too. He sees Bobby and Sam, both giving him grim, concerned looks. Sam has dark bags under his eyes. So they know. The whole Haven probably knows, it would be dumb to assume anything else. Somehow Dean didn’t think about that before. He tries to grin when he passes Sam. He can feel it didn’t come out right.

And then he sees another person, sitting right before the council. His legs almost give in before he reaches his seat. Castiel is there. He looks like shit and he definitely didn’t become any more angelic than he was while he was living with Dean.

Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times, dumbfounded. He doesn’t understand. Cas touched the stone, but he is still there. He doesn’t seem to be changed in any way.

Cas gives him a guilty look and that’s it. This is too much for Dean to take. His mind short-circuits and just like that the only thing he can think of is that Cas would probably look really nice if he let the stubble on his face turn into a beard. And really, who thinks about stuff like that right before they might be sentenced to death? Dean. Dean does.

Linda Tran has to clear her throat again, and they both jump in their seats.

“The other night the two of you broke into the Archstone tower, knocking out the guards, and then moved to the top with the intention of using the Archstone to your own purposes. Is that correct?” she asks.

There is a tiny voice in Dean’s head telling him that he should argue, or at least say it was a life and death situation, but there probably isn’t anything that could help that Missouri hasn’t told the council already, so what’s the point. He nods. Castiel does the same.

“As the Archstone is the main protection of Haven, the council cannot view this act in any other way than treason.”

Dean expected that, but it still makes him nauseous.

“However, we were informed about the very… _special_ circumstances of this case, and given that the Archstone is still intact, we are not going to sentence you to death. That said, we have no guarantee that you won’t act against Haven in the future. And, among other things, it’s our job to make sure people feel safe here.” Linda takes a breath. “We decided that it will be best if you leave Haven and never come back. You are sentenced to exile. You have seven days to prepare. After that I hope to never see you again.”

 

Dean isn’t sure what happens next. His brain registers that they’re not going to die, but everything after that is a blur. Sam is hugging him out of nowhere, and Bobby is grumbling about the biggest idiots in the world. Dean says something in return, and then, suddenly, he and Cas are back at his house, and he doesn’t even remember how they got there.

He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his mind.

They’re going to have to leave. He’s going to have to leave Haven for good. _Shit._ Well, it’s a lot better than _death_ , but still. Not something he ever expected to happen.

Cas is hovering awkwardly right next to him. He still has that guilty look on his face, the one he gave Dean earlier. Having Castiel there feels almost like a miracle, so maybe it’s too good to be true. After all, the Archstone is still in place and Cas doesn’t look like their plan has worked.

“You aren’t still dying, are you?” Dean asks suspiciously. It would be an awful irony, avoiding a death sentence just to watch Castiel die. The thought is enough to make his stomach drop.

“I’m not,” Cas shakes his head, and then continues after a beat. “Dean, I need to apologize. You lost your home because of me, and--” The rest of the sentence is cut off when Dean drags Castiel closer, wrapping his arms around him.

“Dean, why are you hugging me? I just ruined your life.” Cas asks with confusion, his voice muffled by Dean’s shoulder.

“Shut up, Cas, you’re _alive._ And you didn’t ruin anything.”

“But--” Cas tries again.

“Oh, come on,” Dean groans. “I’m not saying I’m _happy_ about being exiled, but I knew from the start it would be dangerous and I made my decision. And you’re _alive_ , you’re _here_ , so will you _please_ let me have a moment?”

Castiel makes a little huff, relaxing against Dean and finally hugging back. “Fine, you can have your moment.”

 

They stay like that for a while, but then Cas’ stomach rumbles and Dean hauls him to the kitchen. Other things, no matter how important, will have to wait until they’ve eaten. Even if Castiel tries to argue that he’s not _that_ hungry and they can talk first. Which is obviously _so not true_ , as Dean points out, while Cas devours his French toast with ridiculous speed. Castiel just shrugs with dignity.

For a few minutes it feels almost like nothing has happened. Dean wants to relish in that feeling, in the sight of Cas stuffing his mouth with food, in the warmth and safety of his kitchen. He doesn’t want to think about leaving. He has to, though.

“Okay, first,” he says when they’re done eating. There’s one thing that he _really_ needs explained before they talk about anything else. “What the hell, man, I saw you touching the Archstone. And you’re human. I mean. This is great. I guess this is what you wanted in the first place. But _how_?”

Cas tenses for a second and then sighs, scowling at his plate. “It all came back to me,” he says. “The flood; it was the angels who caused it. They couldn’t stand that I gave humans so much. They killed everyone out of spite and left me there alone on a boat as a punishment.” His eyes are on Dean again. “They allowed me to come back to Heaven if I find my grace, but why would I ever want to go back there? After what they did, it wasn’t my home anymore.”

Dean swallows. “Fuck, Cas, I’m so sorry.” He can’t even imagine how it must feel to be betrayed by your own kind. Rage stirs up inside him, making him want to punch someone. Ideally a bunch of ancient, powerful beings. With something very deadly.

Castiel just shakes his head. “The moment I remembered, I understood I wouldn’t be able to stay here as an angel. Not without the risk of someone noticing and the story repeating itself. I poured my grace back into the stone. And this time I let it _all_ go. Then the guards came and captured us both.”

They both fall silent. Dean tries to find something to say and fails; nothing seems to be the right thing. He decides to change the topic.

“I have an idea,” he starts. “About what to do now, I mean. I, um. When my Mom died a few years ago, I did some traveling. I went far to the south, stayed a bit in a city there. Met a bunch of awesome people. I haven’t seen them in a while. So, I don’t know, we could go and visit them? And then figure out what we want, without having to rush anything.” He thinks about Ellen and Jo and their bar, and about Charlie, who probably has a spell for everything. It would be good to be able to see some familiar faces when they leave Haven.

Cas stares at him blankly. “You want me to go with you.” So this wasn’t the right thing to say either.

“If you want to, of course,” Dean blurts out. “That would be cool. But you don’t have to. It’s your choice, you can go wherever you want.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas states weakly. “You wanted to help and it ended badly, but you still want me to go with you.”

“Cas,” Dean sighs. Castiel is really going to make him say it, isn’t he? “You didn’t do anything wrong. And I _like_ you, okay? I want you there with me.” The kitchen suddenly feels too hot.

Castiel just looks at him for a long time, his face still unreadable.

“I think. I think that would be nice. Going with you,” he says in the end, and Dean feels like something inside him melts with relief.

 

The rest of the week passes too fast, filled with plans and preparations. Dean has to decide what to take with them, and what to leave behind. It’s frustrating. Of course, Sam promises to send Dean his stuff as soon as they settle somewhere, but it doesn’t change the fact that for now Dean has to leave almost everything in Haven.

They go back for Cas’ boat, still floating in the same place he left it months ago. Dean attaches it behind his bike so they can use it as a makeshift trailer.

Bobby drops in a few times to shout at Dean for his stupidity and tell him he's going to miss him. Sam does that too, but he also helps a lot. A couple of other friends come to say goodbye, though most people avoid Dean and Cas now, the Archstone incident never officially explained. It stings, but explanation wouldn’t be possible without telling everyone that Castiel was an angel, so maybe it’s better that way.

They leave in the early morning on the last day, wanting to cover as much road as possible before nightfall. The city is still silent when they say their goodbyes to Bobby and Sam, who promise to visit sometime in the future, when Dean and Cas are settled.

Dean gives Haven a last glance with a heavy heart. There’s something constricting his chest and for a few seconds he can’t breathe. But then Castiel, still half asleep, nuzzles into his back and mumbles something that Dean can’t understand under the roaring engine. Suddenly breathing becomes easier. He’s not alone. No matter what happens next, he’s going to go through it with Cas.

Soon Haven is just a small dot on the horizon as they ride away, the boat floating behind the bike.

And maybe someone, somewhere, will notice them passing by, and create a new tale about two men with a flying boat.


End file.
